


Ozymandias

by Schgain



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: AU: Ryan Raises Jack, he fuckin' hates this baby, this isn't any sort of story where ryan is a well-meaning father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schgain/pseuds/Schgain
Summary: Andrew Ryan finds Jolene had come to term. He supposes that he could kill this child as he has its mother, but he finds that what stays his hand is not paternal affection, nor compassion, but a deep-set resentment at what he has wrought.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Ozymandias

"I visited Eve's Garden today," says Ryan, "it ended poorly." 

His understatement- understated, his voice doesn't rise above the grim murmur he uses for anything these days- casts a shadow of malaise over him. The whirr of the accuvox is an afterthought, just noise upon noise. He steps out of his shoes and kicks them under his desk- his child's mother had got blood on them. 

The baby stands in the bassinet and refuses to cry, looking up at Ryan with its dullard, mulelike eyes. No one knows it exists yet- he can put it out of its misery now, like he has its mother. But he looks at it, and he is given pause. He tries to raise a hand to it, and finds his arm sapped of strength. 

This cycle of indecision repeats until he sighs. The accuvox clicks off. He reaches for his telephone and dials for Martha, his housekeeper. The receiver only rings once before she answers. 

"Mr. Ryan?" Her voice is not made neutral enough by her typical fastidous, professional nature, and she sounds downright quizzical. It is the end of her shift.

"Martha," he says, voice heavy as the steel that supports his Hephaestus across the city, "there is a problem." 

She either understands his meaning immediately or makes a good guess. "Right away, Mr. Ryan." She says, voice sharp. She hangs up. 

Ryan leans back in his chair. The leather of it creaks as it moves, his gaze drifting over to the baby. He abhors its slow blinks, the way it doesn't babble and whine when he makes noise, the way its lopsided, mismatched gaze watches the fish outside his study window. Something has been done to its eyes.

Martha knocks only a few moments later, having come up from the laundry room. Her brow is sweaty, and her blond hair, usually pulled back tightly in a ponytail, has started to come loose, errant strands sticking wetly to her forehead. 

"What's the matter, Mr. Ryan?"

Ryan gestures wordlessly to the bassinet- and its contents. He watches Martha trace the movement of his hand, and her eyes widen. She doesn't ask whose it is, and being the good Housekeeper she is she likely doesn't even have a guess. At least she can rule out Diane. 

"I suppose this development is a permanent one?" She asks, expertly matching Ryan's emotion to her choice of words. Yes, he appreciates her discretion and infallible apathy. 

"Yes," he says, and for a moment he allows himself be surprised at how indecisive he sounds, "it seems so."

"Does Diane know?"

"She will tonight." And if she doesn't leave him for this, he will be astounded beyond all sense or reasoning at the lack of better judgement in that woman's head. 

"I know what we will need to buy." says Martha. "I'll go out and buy it. Bill you the expense privately." 

What a pain. But better this than have the paparazzi ask why Ryan is suddenly purchasing diapers and teddy bears. He watches Martha, who seemingly can't take the eyes off his latest acquisition. 

Perhaps he's nationalized it. 

"Take it," he says, kneading a temple. "Get it out of my office." Martha spares him an acidic look; let her judge him! Ryan does not pay for her derision, so that is her own time being spent. He wonders if she is a mother. Yes, she must be. Or had been, once. 

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asks. She makes her way to the baby. Her warm hands are broad. The baby doesn't make a noise when lifted.

"I don't give a fuck."

"Does it have a name?" She asks, a thin, almost-white brow rising. 

A name. Of course, a name, it must have one. He thinks back, names for boys or girls or both, but all that comes to mind are those from the Union. He has done hard work putting that part of him far away from his name. This child of his will not be called Rianofski. But, he must admit... the cyclical nature of legacies prove that all things come back to where they have begun. It would do good to acknowledge this, if not outright celebrate it. He waves his hand again, a dismissal. He can't bear to look at it any longer. "Sasha if it's a boy. Saveliy if it's a girl."

Martha does not look at him. The arm not holding his child goes to pick up the bassinet, a courtesy to remove the evidence of its unwelcome presence. "Does it matter which room is made up for the baby?"

"What does any of this matter?" He snaps, hateful and hissing out like cigarette smoke. He could go for a cigarette right now. He feels as though his doom rests there, in his housekeeper's arm. A cigarette would not save him, no, but certainly it would ebb the tide raging against his future. 

Martha takes the baby and leaves. Ryan stares at the wood grain of his desk. 

He picks up his phone again and dials Bill. 

The phone rings long. When he is finally answered, Bill's voice is quiet and slowed by sleep."Ryan? It's nearly three in the morning! What's the matter?" Bill's mind jumps to catastrophe immediately. Sensible, really, and Ryan has little convincing him not to do the same. "What's the emergency?" 

"Bill," he says, trying to quell the traitorous waver of fury in his voice, "I have a child." 

Bill is quiet for a moment. "A child? Who's the dame?" 

He can hear Mrs. McDonagh on the other end, murmuring wordlessly to her husband. Elaine, her name is. They have an infant of their own: a little girl named Sophie. For some reason, Ryan is aware of this fact like no other, the thought crystalizing in his brain. 

"There is none," Ryan replies after a pause, managing to get his voice under control. "The Council is having a meeting first thing in the morning. Shortly after, I must discuss with Mr. Endicott." 

Mr. Endicott, his lawyer. Money must change hands. He thinks of inheritances and wills, clauses and contrivances. He did not think he had to do this now. He did not know when, if ever, he would have done this of his own volition.

It's not until Martha is halfway down the hall that his heir begins to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments greatly appreciated!


End file.
